


Burn the Ashes

by Fallenfromfaith



Category: Universal Century Gundam
Genre: M/M, oh char we really in it now, uhh suicidal thoughts jic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24620857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallenfromfaith/pseuds/Fallenfromfaith
Summary: At the end of everything Char Anzable is so, so tired.
Relationships: Char Aznable/Garma Zabi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 14





	Burn the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no idea how this happened to me. They consumed me so, so quickly. I just think they're neat! I've only seen 0079, Origin and like four episodes of Zeta so pretend this happens, uh, somewhere! Also, I know Char is really out of character here but he is going to have to take the L on this one. He dances to my whims as I see fit. I hope you enjoy!

At the end of everything Char Anzable is so, so tired. 

When he looks at his hands all he sees is red and he knows if he tried to wipe them clean it would do nothing at all. It doesn’t matter, he has no desire to take back what he’s done. Regrets are for the weak and for those who never had any resolve at all. These hands are a gift, the mark of a warrior who has been through many battles and always come out on top. There is nothing else but that simple truth: Char survived and Char won.

Still, he is so tired. He decided to cut contact from everyone for the time being and find a place to rest his head just for a moment. The town he found for that exact purpose is practically uninhabited. As he walks through the streets the few people left scurry away in fear of an intimidating stranger. Char can’t recall what affiliation this town has or what it’s war history is and he really can’t bring himself to care all that much. Master strategist Char always cares about every advantage, every detail, but now he only cares about a warm bed.

He walks until he finds a house outside of town. It’s exterior is falling apart and just from one glance Char knows it is abandoned. The townfolks must have left it to it’s fate when they realized it was too far beyond saving. It doesn’t matter to Char if the roof is caving in. It just has to last a few days. Though, the inside of the house is not as bad as he assumed. Furniture still remains, traces of the people who once lived here but inevitably abandoned it during the war. All that matters is the bedroom on the bottom floor with a bed that seems wholly intact. 

It’s quiet here but still not quiet enough. Everywhere Char goes does nothing for the pounding feeling in his head. No medicine he has found cures him and a good night’s sleep does nothing for it. He has decided it is something he is going to have to live with. It isn’t much different than the red staining his hands. These things are apart of him but the exhaustion can’t be. Weariness gets you killed on the battlefield and Char is against giving his opponents even the slightest leverage. 

Char finds himself allergic to resting. He kicks off his boots, lays on the bed, but still he feels tension knotting in his back. His shoulders are heavy, his head is thrumming with pain. This isn’t going to work. He can’t just put down all his burdens, he has to hold onto them constantly or he’ll forget what it was all for. Hold onto them so tight his knuckles turn white, so tight no one can take them from him. In the end, they’re all he has. 

The sun is setting outside and the room is filled with dying light though the sunglasses he hadn’t bothered taking off protects him somewhat from the glare. Char could take them off, if he wants, he just doesn’t want to. There are things that he is and if he forgets that there will be nothing left. The red on his hands, the ache in his head, the weight he carries, and the old habit of keeping his sunglasses on no matter what. This is what it means to be Char Aznable. 

Somehow he manages to fall asleep. That is just how it is with him, he has to pretend to be asleep before sleep comes for a visit. He isn’t one to be fond of sleep even if it is necessary. You are vulnerable when you’re asleep, anything can happen to you once your eyes close. It helps that he is a light sleeper. Any subtle noise wakes him up which is why he is sitting up on the creaky old bed looking at an intruder entering from the bedroom door. 

The dim moonlight drifting in from the single window of the room is enough for Char to see the face of his midnight visitor. Char, for once in his life, feels completely caught off guard. He must be more exhausted than he thought if he’s seeing things like this. 

“What’s wrong?” a dead man asks Char, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The gun in his hand pointing at Char is expected even if nothing else about this situation is. 

“Garma,” Char says with a wry smile on his face, the only thing he can muster, “It’s been so long.”

The man standing before Char is Garma Zabi but a different Garma than Char had once knew. The left side of his face is covered in old scars and his figure, once plump, is dangerously slim. His left eye is covered in an eye patch and the visible eye is not shining as it once did but is devoid of almost all emotion. 

“Are you just going to stay in bed when an old friend is here to visit you?” Garma asks with a jerk of the gun. Char cautiously obliges and slides off the side of the bed. He raises his hands lazily as he comes to stand before Garma. There is a gun in a holster under his shirt but he doesn’t even consider attempting to go for it.

“You look good,” Char provides.

“Save it,” Garma’s frown looks wrong. Not the usual annoyed frown that often occupied his face and not even the deeply pained one that often slipped more than Garma thought it did. No, this frown is one of someone who has been through many hardships. A smug thought curls around Char’s mind: Good, now you know how I have suffered. He doesn’t acknowledge the other thought, the one slithering deep down like a worm in the rotten core of his heart. 

“I can’t believe it’s actually you,” Garma says, looking Char over, “Everyone said there was a strange man in red wearing sunglasses prowling through town but I wasn’t holding my breath.”

“I can’t be the only one who wears sunglasses and likes the color red,” Char gives Garma a tired smile.

“It was worth looking into, even if it wasn’t you, letting a stranger stir up trouble is never a good idea. But, it seems it was my lucky day,” There is no smirk like Char would have expected, no gloating, just exhaustion staring back at him.

And then something twists inside Char. He is never one to believe in a higher power but there must be one if Garma is before him now. The pounding in his head finally stops.

“It always going to be you,” Char says deliriously. It is coming to him like a revelation, like a prophecy finally fulfilled. 

Garma falters, a glimpse of the Garma of before, “Excuse me?”

Char takes a few staggering steps toward Garma, hands still up. Garma straightens the aim of the gun in warning but Char ignores it. As if he is falling at Garma’s feet he wraps his arms around him. The gun digs into his stomach but he ignores it. Everything is clear now, everything is okay now.

“What are you doing?” Garma says, a late reaction. 

“It has to be you,” Char whispers in Garma’s ear like a secret. 

“Explain,” Garma demands, just like before. Always demanding, always exercising his power as if to assure everyone around him that he has it. 

“You were always going to be the one to kill me. It has to be you, Garma.” The weariness that has clung to Char for what seems to be years now finally washes away. The end was always so far away because there was never an end. There could never be an end. But, an end finally has come to Char.

“Char,” Garma says but Char hates the sound of it. 

“Go ahead, you can have your revenge.” Char all but pleads. A circle about to return to it’s beginning, a cycle about to be complete. It had to be Garma, it always had to be Garma.

The pressure of the gun disappears right before the sound of metal on hardwood is heard. Char leans are from Garma but keeps his arms tight around him in an act he will not think about for too long, will not dissect, and looks to the floor where the gun now sits. Garma kicks it to the wall with his foot. 

“I’m not like you, Char, I’ve never been like you. I don’t want revenge.”

“I killed you. I killed your sister.” Char feels light headed. 

“I don’t have the strength to hate someone for that long.” Garma’s mouth is a thin line.

“You have to. You have to hate me.” Char is surprised to find his voice shaking. 

“Because you’d hate me? Because you do hate me?” Garma looks at Char with something akin to pity. 

“I-” Char does not dare say it outloud. He cannot admit it, cannot look at it straight on. The truth he pretended not to see. 

“You know, I thought I’d have more to say to you, but there is nothing left to say,” Garma puts a hand on Char’s shoulder, “Let go of me.”

And Char let’s go, but only a single arm. He brings his now free hand to his face and takes off his sunglasses with one hand. He drops them to the floor with a clatter. 

“I don’t hate you.”

Garma looks at him, really looks at him, in surprise. Char finally caught him off guard, an odd thought considering Char always had the upper hand with him. Times change, people change. Char changes them. Here he is, finally completely unshielded, staring at Garma. He’s changed too. Maybe he was always like this though that is a thought he cannot touch for very long

“Stay,” Char grips the back of Garma’s shirt, “Please, stay.”

“You need to sleep,” Garma says firmly, scolding like he used to in a different time. 

“You’ll stay?” Char asks again. 

“I’ll stay,” Garma finally looks away. 

They ignore the open door they even ignore the fact walking is difficult when clinging onto each other. Char can’t let go, he won’t let go. He is looking directly at the sun. Together, they collapse on the bed. Char buries his head in Garma’s chest as Garma runs his hands through Char’s hair.

“I won’t apologize,” Char says against Garma’s shirt.

“I know,” Garma says softly. 

“I didn’t miss you,” Char closes his eyes.

“I know.”

“Don’t leave me.” 

There is no answer. 

Char opens his eyes to an empty bed. He knows the door is closed without looking up, he knows there is no shadowy shape that could resemble a gun on the floor, he knows he is looking through his sunglasses which are still firmly on his head. 

He rolls over with a grunt and tries to go back to sleep.


End file.
